Not because it was quiet.
Because it had been trained into her.
I stepped out of the car without remembering opening the door. The parking garage tilted around me. A man from legal called my name from somewhere behind me, but I didn’t turn.
My driver, Marcus, saw my face and stopped mid-step near the elevator.
“Mr. Sterlington?”
“Keys,” I said.
He held them out immediately.
I took them, got into the car, and drove out of the garage so fast the tires shrieked against the polished concrete.
My phone stayed mounted on the dashboard, the nursery feed still live.
I watched while I drove.
Every red light felt like an insult. Every car in front of me became an enemy. My hands shook against the steering wheel with a rage so huge it became strangely calm.
In mergers, panic lost wars.
Precision won them.
So I made calls.
First, emergency services.
“My infant son may have been exposed to medication,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “My wife is being assaulted inside my home. I am en route now. Send police and paramedics.”
The dispatcher asked questions.
I answered all of them.
Address. Names. Possible weapon. Suspect. Child present.
Then I called Dr. Harris, Julian’s pediatrician.
“Nick?” he answered, surprised. “Is everything all right?”
“No. I need you at my house or on the phone with paramedics when they arrive. Julian has had persistent crying and possible fever. There may also be unknown medication involved.”
A pause.
“What kind of medication?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“I’m leaving now,” he said.
Then I called Gabriel Vale.
My attorney.
Not corporate counsel. Not the polished general counsel who handled board disputes.
Gabriel was the man powerful people hired when the beautiful version of a family needed to be dragged into daylight.
He answered on the second ring.
